Like a stopped clock,
I’m correct only at intervals.
If I were pressed to say when, I’d say
I stopped at 41 and a few months.
Old enough to claim full rights
to grown-up, young enough
to pass for less than that
at select moments,
at least in my head.
Now, years later, I’m old enough
to claim old, young enough
to be dismayed that most everyone
agrees with me, not quite old enough
to be past all care for others’ perceptions.
I look forward to one more moment
of complete synchronization
when this stopped clock will one more time
tell it like it is, and then
most likely will be discarded,
or with any luck be shunted into a dusty box
of broken things with sentimental value,
things no one can quite bring themselves to toss.